Picking Bones
by Inzannatea23
Summary: Jane Ross joins an archaeological excavation and finds something that won't end up in the museum. Can she figure out what's going on, or will she need to call on her Guardian Angel? Set between my stories The Most Common Element and Axiom Tilt.
1. Chapter 1

Picking Bones **Notes:** This was actually my first fic ever written, but I've been sitting on it for nearly six months because it didn't have a title. I found a title, so I decided to go ahead and publish it (even though it's a WIP)  
I've discovered 2 important parts of my writing process. I need a title to write towards and I need deadlines to write against.  
I haven't changed this much from the original, but Things Said and The Most Common Element are part of the same timeline. This takes place a few weeks after The Most Common Element and about a year and a half ahead of Axiom Tilt.  
Chapter 1 **Work Text:**

"Letter from Max. It seems he's in love," he offered scanning the page.

"Oh, how dreadful," responded Tessa with a sip at her tea, "who is the poor fool?"

"Some mystery writer pretending at archaeology."

Tessa shook her head rolling her eyes, "Hopefully she's rich."

"Hmm, yes," Professor Wheeler acknowledged without lifting his eyes.

Tessa turned to Kath. "I want you and your girls here to start near the copse of plum trees. There are some that seem to be doing exceptionally well." Kath nodded in understanding. Likely a burial of some sort there. Even hundreds of years later, the soil can be enriched by life lost.

Jane Ross didn't mind too much, especially the older burials. She didn't think she'd like being in her guardian's line of work. The bodies were too — what's the word? Fresh. Old bones weren't a problem. Fresh and, often, ripe bones? No thanks.

"I hope we find a body!" Jane was startled out of her thoughts by the young woman next to her.

"Mary! That's awful! I mean, it would be wonderful to discover any hints of the Romans, and a burial would be interesting. I just wish you wouldn't say it quite that way. Remember who my guardian is."

"Yes, of course. Your Miss Fisher has made you too sensitive. I mean I want to find bones. They are ever so interesting. You can learn so much about life from death!"

"Really, Mary," said a not-quite-manly voice on the other side of the breakfast table, "I don't think Jane is being too sensitive. Frankly, I don't know how you do it, Jane. I've been raised in the business and I can't stand the bones." Michael folded the newspaper he had been reading and picked up his tea.

"They still haven't found her, then?" mused Jane as she glanced at the back page of Michael's newspaper and skimmed the article about the local woman who had suddenly disappeared some months before, "If Miss Phryne weren't so busy getting — reacquainted — with the Inspector, I'd ring her to see if she could help."

"I don't get him. Or her. I want to travel, but chasing a woman to the other side of the world? I don't get it." Mary wasn't exactly a romantic. Jane was happy, though. She loved Miss Phryne and she was very fond of the Inspector. She hoped that it would work out. She'd never seen either one of them so giddy. Alright, yes; that part was a little much.

The Inspector and Miss Fisher had shown up about a week before she left for St. Albans. They'd met up in Egypt and had some sort of adventure, but they'd been too preoccupied with each other for her to get the full story. Jane giggled to herself, "Ah… elderly love."

Of course, there was that tragic business with the R-101. Jane shuddered a bit. They were besotted with each other, but she could tell they were both sad about that. At least in the quiet moments.

"I'd do it," Michael looked meaningfully at Jane, "For the right girl, I mean. I'd follow her to the ends of the earth."

Michael was sweet, but Jane was getting a little weary of his puppy-like adoration of her. Mary rolled her eyes, "Give up, Michael. Miss Ross is a little out of your grasp."

"Ladies. Let's go." Jane was saved from further embarrassment with this line of conversation by the short directive from her field lead Kath. Kath was a recent Oxford graduate, and a few years older than her new friend Mary and herself. Technically, Jane was still in her final year at the Cavendish Academy, but her aptitude and interest in history and archaeology — and a generous grant for the excavation from a certain Honourable lady detective — had secured her a summer position with Professor Wheeler and the St. Albans excavation of the Roman city of Verulamium.

Mary Nicol was her roommate at the dig site. She was about a year older than Jane, and had been taking classes informally at University College with Professor Wheeler. She pulled out all of the stops trying to get on this dig. She won him over with her artifact illustrations, and he hired her on to be the dig illustrator. There were some rumors that she won him over in other ways as well, but Jane didn't see any evidence from either of them that they were having an affair. It was believable that the professor might be a bit of a cad. He — leered. But Mary was just so focused on her work, it was impossible to believe that she was there for any reason but her mind.

The professor was the sponsor of the dig, but on site, it was clear that his wife Tessa was in charge. She made all the decisions about where they would start digging. "Such a shame that women are so rarely recognized for our own brilliance," Jane thought silently, "maybe one day we will be."

Jane grabbed her gloves and trowel, stood up, took one last swig of her tea, and, with a slightly sad smile to her bosses' son, followed Kath and Mary to the copse of plum trees.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was glittering on the morning dew as they made their way from the mess tent. After Kath made some notes and decided on a likely location, the women marked off a square yard with pegs and string. They carefully removed the sod with trowels and Kath's blade and Mary sketched the first, rather dull, layer.

They removed the soil in one inch increments, Mary sketching each layer as they dug deeper.

They stopped before noon for lunch. Decent progress; about 6 inches down. The layers move much quicker when there is nothing to find.

Around 2:00 PM, Jane's trowel clinked. She grabbed a brush from Kath's kit, and started brushing away the dirt from what appeared to be glass. It was scratched up, but slowly it started to show a beveled rectangular shape. Brush. Brush. Brush. Bulo..? It was a watch. A modern watch. Why would someone bury a watch in a plum grove?

Mary started sketching the rectangular glass with the "Bulova" name visible underneath. They had just started to make out the Roman numerals of the watch face as well. Roman numerals were great, but this wasn't the kind of 'Roman' artifact they were hoping to find. Their process wouldn't allow them to just grab it. Layer at a time; that's the rule. Jane had called Kath over as well. Kath's brow knitted in concern. This deep for a modern artifact didn't make sense unless it had been placed deliberately.

"Unearth it, but then I think we need to move to a different plot. This ground has been adulterated." Kath finally concluded.

Now that they'd found a human artifact, they slowed down the layer discovery to a half inch at a time. After Mary finished her plot sketch, she put down her book and grabbed another brush. This layer, they started closer to the watch, but they still had to unearth according to the process. As they carefully worked away the chalky dirt around the watch, Jane started feeling incredibly uneasy. If this were just a watch, it should be looser now. The brushes had cleared more of the watch. Just under the body of the watch, the texture of the dirt started to change. Jane's brush found…was that a branch? Leather? Oh no. No, no, no.

Kath looked over her shoulder, "Damn," she sighed, "stop digging."

Kath urged Jane and Mary to step away from the plot and wait for her. She climbed into the plot and started inspecting what they'd found very intently. "Stay exactly where you are and don't touch anything." She instructed after she brushed away a bit more dirt, stood up—dusting off her hands on her tan trousers. Without another word, Kath started towards Tessa and Professor Wheeler. Jane watched from the copse as Kath spoke to the directors. She couldn't hear what Kath said, but she watched as their attention spiked, Tessa's head dropped backward as she searched the sky for answers, and then forward as she realized there would be no help there. Professor Wheeler rubbed his hand from his forehead to his mouth, smoothing his already heavily waxed moustache, his other hand clenching at his waist. He turned towards Jane and Mary, staring for several breaths before he started stalking over to the plot, Tessa and Kath in his wake.

Arriving at the plot, the older archaeologists didn't even acknowledge the girls. Jane and Mary glanced at each other and seemed to understand that it would be best to stay silent for now. Tessa stooped down to examine what they'd uncovered. "Kath, call the police," she directed without even looking up after a moment's investigation and Kath rushed off to find a telephone, "Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn."

Professor Wheeler looked down at his wife, "Are you sure?"

Tessa sat back on her heels and looked up to nod to her husband. Finally, turning to the younger women Tessa announced, "I'm afraid, ladies, that this will put a halt to all of our activities. At least for a little while."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Mmmm…Phryne Fisher speaking." The voice on the line was low and sultry.

"Miss Phryne? This is Jane. I need your help."

"Ooo… of course, darling Jane. Mmm, that's good." Jane heard a deeper growling moan over the line, interwoven with the voice of her guardian and was suddenly mortified. _Oh God._ But soldier on, she must.

"Miss Phryne, I think there's been a murder."

"A murder! Jack, stop. Stop. What do you mean, 'you think' Jane?"

 _Thank goodness,_ the other sounds stopped abruptly. "I was digging and I found a watch. I think it's still attached to an arm, but the police are here now and they're not letting us near the dig plot. I didn't want to disturb you, but I think they're going to need your help."

"Of course, Jane. We'll be there within the hour," her guardian promised, "Oh. Oh. OH!" and then a long pause and a breathless, "Or perhaps two hours."

"Thank you, Miss." Jane replaced the receiver and pressed her lips into a thin line wishing she weren't quite so worldly. She was not naive. She knew that grown people in love behaved a certain way. She just didn't care to hear it. At least Miss Phryne and her partner were professionals, or likely would be, once they got here.

She wandered back over to Mary. Her roommate was slouched against the sturdy wooden picnic table in a sort of half lean, half sitting position. Mary didn't acknowledge Jane's return but she started speaking anyway.

"I suppose I should be more careful about what I wish for." Mary was staring straight ahead, not really looking at anything.

"You couldn't have known," soothed Jane, "this isn't your fault."

"Yes, well, you didn't wish to find a body, did you?" Mary was still searching the ether for something unseen. Her tone was bitter, but Jane felt as if the bitterness was probably focused internally rather than at her.

"Wishing for something doesn't make it so." Mary finally turned to her. She opened her mouth to respond, thought better of it, and then simply nodded.

It was getting close to the normal time for dinner, but no one was very hungry. The police had been there for a few hours. Things were at an impasse. Professor Wheeler had been trying to convince the police authorities that more of the apparent crime scene (and not coincidently, his dig site) would be better preserved if he and his team were allowed to extract the body (if there was indeed a body) in a methodical, anthropological way.

To the detective chief inspector's credit, he did see merit in what the professor was saying. But with the body (or whatever it was) being found on land the professor was excavating, and what with the professor not being a member of the Hertfordshire constabulary, he didn't think it wise to let him control the scene.

Professor Wheeler agreed that he was _not_ a member of the Hertfordshire constabulary, but until such time as the detective chief inspector obtained a warrant, he could kindly piss off.

And so the afternoon passed.

"Jane! Are you alright?" young master Wheeler came rushing up to the pensive young women.

"I'm fine Michael. We didn't really see anything except a bit of…"

"Stop, Jane. He doesn't want to hear about it," Mary interrupted her before she described the orange marbleized leather with over pronounced pores and thin, fine hair protruding.

Michael looked a little green. "Yes, well. I'm glad you're alright," he directed to Jane, and then remembering that she wasn't the only other person in the world, turned briefly to Mary, "Um… I'm glad you both are, of course."

The three teens sat in silence for a long while. Michael finally broke it, "Do you think it's her?"

"It was a woman's watch. Deco, so fairly new." Jane considered aloud, "Do you still have this morning's newspaper?" She asked, turning towards Michael.

He nodded solemnly and extracted himself from the picnic table they were now all seated around. "I'll go get it. I have the other articles as well."

Jane and Mary looked at him quizzically. "What? It's an interesting case." He offered in his defense.

"You're an odd duck, Michael," Mary called after him. "He's obsessed with this missing person and crime, but he doesn't want to see any part of the actual remains."

"I don't know if that's odd," Jane chuckled, "It's rather normal, really. Death is fascinating in the abstract, but the reality of remains isn't for everyone."

Mary scoffed, "People are strange."

They looked out across the field at the inaction near the body. Or arm. Or, possibly just a watch and hyperbole. Nobody had told them anything since they'd been shooed away from the scene.

They watched as the lead detective — DCI Canterbury, he'd introduced himself to them earlier during one of the more frustrating draws — spoke to Professor and Mrs. Wheeler. Several constables stood around looking worried, but not doing anything. Kath stood in front of the unearthed test pit as if she were guarding it. She was a statue, not moving for hours on end.

Jane watched DCI Canterbury from across the field. He was perhaps 50 years old, give or take 5 years. Jane suspected that the give or take would largely depend on how much strife he'd seen. St. Albans seemed like a quiet town, so she was willing to consider that he might be on the upper end of the scale — but she was also aware how the life of a copper could wear on a caring man, so possibly late 40s. When he'd come to speak with them earlier, she noted he had kind eyes. Taking that into consideration, she decided he probably hadn't rounded the half-century mark.

Michael returned fewer than five minutes later with a stack of clipped newspaper articles. "As I said," he blushed slightly at his evident obsession with this story, "interesting case."

The articles were about a woman who had gone missing from St. Albans some four months before. Ellen Burchill had last been seen walking her dog Barkley on a chilly April afternoon. Her fiancé, a Mr. Euan Clarke, had reported that she'd boarded a train for Somerset later that afternoon to visit family, but she never arrived. The family in Somerset verified his story that she had, in fact, written to them to let them know she was coming and when to expect her, but when the train arrived, she wasn't on it. Her suitcase was found on the train but she and her dog were missing, so police all along the line had been searching for months.

No one from the train who had been interviewed remembered seeing her or her dog, but the police conceded that it was possible that they had not yet found the right witness. After all, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. In a seemingly endless reservoir of hope, Mr. Clarke had been travelling the route as well, putting up signs with sketches of his beloved containing pleas for information. She had, according to all the evidence gathered thus far, vanished without a trace. In the past couple of weeks, since the Verulamium dig began, the teens had met Mr. Clarke and promised to keep their eyes open for anything suspicious. He was very charming, and seemed utterly sincere in his concern.

"I hope it isn't her," Jane sighed as she read through the articles "Such a tragic life already."

"If it isn't her, it's someone else," Mary countered, "No one deserves an end like this."

The trio poured through the articles in a much more diligent fashion than they had when they first read them. And with a much more precise objective. If this Bulova-wearing apparent arm did belong to Ellen, they wanted to see if there might be some clues in the story of her disappearance.

According the story, Mrs. Ellen Burchill was a widow who had lost her husband some five years previously in a tragic drowning accident in Barbados. John Burchill had been a treasure hunter and had been extracting items of unknown origin, value, and quantity from an unexpected find just off the north coast of the island. The rumor was that it was cursed pirate treasure, but the teens all agreed that thought was just the ridiculous thinking of too many trips to the cinema. Curses were anathema to men and women of science.

When Mrs. Burchill met the charming Mr. Clarke last year, it seemed as if her luck changed. He was handsome and from a good family. The wedding was to have been in early June, but the bride didn't make it to the wedding. The groom and her family, as well as the press and others who had been following the story, showed up at the chapel out of some boundless sense of optimism, or possibly sick sensationalism. It was all garbage journalism, but there was no one in this part of the kingdom who didn't know about poor Ellen Burchill.

Mr. Clarke was questioned extensively in relation to the case. Standard procedure is to look close to home first. It usually was the husband or boyfriend in a case like this, but in this case the motive was unclear. Euan Clarke stood to become a wealthy man only after he married Ellen Burchill. Her disappearance before the wedding left him without legal claim to her fortunes. No wedding, no money.

Jane gasped as she looked at the picture of Ellen and Euan the local paper had included in the first story of her disappearance. "Mary, Michael… look!"

She pointed at the picture of the missing woman. The picture was the engagement photo the same publisher had run just a few months before. Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Burchill were sitting side by side. Her left arm was crossed over his right to show off the engagement ring. On her left wrist sat an Art Deco watch the same shape as the Bulova in the dirt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** Sorry for the long delay in this. The writing muse has largely abandoned me as real life has become increasingly stressful. I'm going to try to get back to this story and hope posting this will kick me back into gear.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"Miss Phryne!" In the distance she heard the familiar sound of a powerful car engine drawing quickly closer.

Mary and Michael looked up from their reading. "What on earth?" Michael exhaled as Jane jumped up from the table.

"Miss Phryne!" Jane ran towards the car which was slowing to a stop. A beautiful ebon-haired woman in garnet chiffon hopped from behind the wheel of a gorgeous green Wolseley Hornet the moment it stopped moving, catching Jane in her arms. A serious-faced, though slightly trembling, man wearing a red-lined trench and fedora moved from the passenger side of the vehicle a bit slower.

"Jane, my darling! I'm so happy to see you!" the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher exclaimed into her foster-daughter's hair as she held her tightly. Eventually, Jane pulled back from her guardian, but kept ahold of her hand.

"Hello Jane. Are you alright?" Jack asked seriously. He'd recovered from the trip as soon as they stopped moving and he knew they were safe. Jane noted his eyes no longer carried the same sadness she'd seen in them at the beginning of their friendship, but his manner was, as ever, cautious and concerned.

She smiled at warmly him, "Inspector Robinson." She always liked the Inspector. Mr. Robinson? Jack? She wasn't really sure what she should call him. What do you call your legal guardian's lover? They hadn't really had any time to work that out between the pair's arrival and her departure.

"Now," Phryne asked, "what's going on?"

* * *

"The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher," she announced presenting her card to DCI Canterbury.

All archaeological and constabulary eyes turned to see who had upset the balance of conversation. Or rather, dilemma. Or rather, deadlock, They were greeted with the vision of an elegant, raven-haired enchantress flanked by a well-dressed, fedora topped man, and the teenagers who had been holding down the picnic table all afternoon.

"Lady detective?" Canterbury read the card as he held it at the far end of his fingers, stretching his arm as far as it could go. "What are you doing here, Miss Fisher?" the man with the kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair (temples heavily salted) asked.

Miss Phryne paused before answering, a smirk of a smile crossing her face. "My ward Jane Ross uncovered the remains. In addition, I'm a benefactress for this endeavor, and as such I have a keen interest in maintaining the integrity of the site."

"Yes, of course. Miss Fisher," Professor Wheeler jumped into the détente, "Thank you for coming."

"And you are?" Canterbury turned towards Jack.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, Victoria Police," Jack introduced himself, showing his credentials.

"Victoria? As in Australia?" Canterbury responded with an arched eyebrow, "you're a little far from your jurisdiction, detective inspector."

"I'm — uh," Jack glanced at Phryne, and then down at his shoes before meeting Canterbury's eyes, "on holiday." DCI Canterbury looked back and forth between Jack and Phryne a couple of times.

Canterbury considered him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. "Holiday, huh? You said you're a DI?" Jack nodded. He turned to his Sergeant, "Maybe I need to transfer to Australia." The sergeant took note of Jack's answers, chuckling and shaking his head.

Canterbury turned back towards the test pit, and the woman who was standing guard over his possible murder victim. He rubbed his hand over his jaw and then looked back at the lady detective and the well-traveled DI from Victoria. Finally, he turned back toward his constables.

"Any word from Judge Trapp?"

"Uh… not yet, sir."

DCI Canterbury gritted his teeth, "Well, get back to the pub and get his…"

"Detective Chief Inspector, if I may offer my assistance," Phryne interrupted loudly.

All eyes turned to her.

"How's that, Miss Fisher? We're at a bit of an impasse here."

"I've been trained in archaeology and could unearth… whatever it is we have here... to the exacting standards the Wheelers desire," Phryne claimed.

"Trained by whom!" barked Kath. She'd said almost nothing all day, standing guard, but she wasn't going to let just anyone near her site.

"I spent a year working with Hans Frankfort and his wife Jettie at Abydos," Phryne knew that at least the Wheelers would know about her friends in Egypt, "In fact, we left them just over a month ago at Amarna."

"Hans? Good fellow." Dr. Wheeler nodded in thought as Kath relaxed.

"That's all well and good, Miss Fisher," DCI Canterbury said, "But we still can't have non-constabulary excavation."

"Ah! But you see, I'm also a special constable of the Victoria Police."

Canterbury looked at her, dumbfounded for a moment. Then back at Jack.

"Is this true?"

Jack tilted his head from side-to-side in grudging acknowledgement.

"Right. Doesn't matter if it's true, you aren't a member of the Hertfordshire Constabulary!" Canterbury exhaled frustrated.

"Yes, but I understand what is relevant from the police perspective as well as from the archaeological perspective. You need me, Detective Chief Inspector," Phryne proclaimed confidently.

"Is she always like this?" Canterbury asked Jack.

Jack nodded to the side with a smirk, "Always."

Canterbury pinched the bridge of his nose. It was getting late. "Look. It's getting dark. We need to get whatever this is out. I can get some lights and a generator here. Can you tell my men what to do to make it go faster? I don't want anyone who was already on the site working on this excavation."

"Of course! I excel at telling constables what to do," Phryne said with a sultry smile.

Canterbury looked at Jack, "You don't even need to tell me that's true."

Jack chuckled.

"Right… Dr. Wheeler, is this acceptable? Will you agree to let Miss Fisher excavate this with constabulary assistance using archaeological methods, while still preserving police evidence, before we can get a warrant?" Canterbury asked.

Wheeler looked meaningfully at Tessa for a long moment. Finally she nodded. Wheeler turned back to Canterbury, "Yes. That is acceptable. She can get started right away."

"Good. Good. Right. Miss Fisher, you're on. You might want to find something else to wear," the detective chief inspector suggested with a wave of his hand.

"Wonderful!" Phryne turned to Jane, "Jane, darling, I may I borrow something? Couture isn't ideal for field work."

Jane nodded quickly, "Of course, Miss Phryne. I'll take you to our room."

"We'll be back in a jiffy!" Phryne waved and started to walk away after Jane.

"Miss Fisher… a word?" Jack called after her.

She stopped short, but graced him with a smile waiting for him to join her.

"Are you planning on working all night?"

"I hadn't really planned that far ahead."

"No. No, I gathered that. I'll try to find us some accomodation, just in case you are able to stop," he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead, "Special constable? I thought I told you I was retiring you?"

She smiled, "Hopefully, he won't run that down. I do at least know procedure if it isn't even it isn't on the books."

Jack smiled at her before kissing her properly, "It's still on the books. Too much paperwork to retire you properly."

"Cheeky," she grinned at him, "Fine. You go see what you can dig up, and I'll see _who_ I can."

* * *

"Jerome," DCI Canterbury said to Jack as they watched the men set up the floodlights around the dig-site, "Call me Jerome."

The men had been discussing the logistics of the setup for the past half hour or so.

"Jack." Jerome nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, Jack, what's your story? How'd you come to be in the company of a hoity-toity lady detective?"

"It's… a bit complicated."

Jerome grunted a laugh, "It always is. Let me guess, beautiful but brilliant rich lady decides to insinuate herself into your investigations and you can't help but fall for her?"

"Not that complicated after all, then" Jack chuckled.

Jerome smiled slyly, "So what's she see in a old copper like you?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out myself," Jack admitted.

Jerome nodded in understanding, "Complicated."

"Complicated," Jack agreed.

"Is she actually any good? Other than to look at? No offense, mate."

Jack shook his head dismissing any charges, "As you guessed, she's brilliant. She sees things nobody else catches. Makes connections that seem so completely unconnected until she finds the thread. I've never seen anything like it. My case clearance rate has gone through the roof."

"Sounds like a regular lady Sherlock Holmes."

Jack chuckled, "I never thought about it like that, but I suppose in some ways she is."

"Are you her Watson, then?"

"No, no. That would be Miss Williams… er… Mrs. Collins, now. She's Miss Fisher's companion. I guess I'm more like LeStrade."

Jerome laughed at that, "Welcome to England, mate."


End file.
